Plague
by sanpan
Summary: 1795. Disillusioned Julia Hoffman meets broken nobleman, Barnabas Collins. The story of a tired woman, her cursed town, and a sad monster. Because in the end, there is only one thing to be feared: the living. Update- A web of lies.
1. The Mute and the Madame

**My first official foray into non-humor Dark Shadows fanfiction. Hopefully you find this story worth sticking with.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Dark Shadows**

**Warning: this is very AU or PT. **

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_Prologue- The Mute and the Madame_

"That mute's outside 'gain, ma'am."

The woman peered out the pitiful window. The girl was right- it was the same man from the night before. Beggars came by the rancid house each day; one man made no difference, but this one, she suspected, was scaring away her customers.

It was time to greet the "mute." He was still sitting on the dusty steps when she stepped out of the joint, bosom almost fully exposed and old dress dragging behind her feet. She knew what she would appear to him- an aging, washed up failure, covered in make-up and reeking of heavy perfume. But she knew her presence would alarm him nonetheless.

She stood before him, arms crossed. He refused to make eye contact; from the look of things, he had seen better days. The remains of a silk cravat still hung around his neck. Even his dusty, torn coat had aristocracy written all over it. But whatever glory this man once had clearly no longer existed.

He was no better than the drunkards who passed out within her walls. Dirtier, even. The man was filthy, covered in grime and dried blood.

The first night he showed up, the girls expected him to come in begging. All he ever did was sit, back straight, and heavy-set eyes staring down, the cruel lines in that face still adjusting to some new life.

The second night, they had expected a brawl. Coming to a town like theirs, dressed the way he was, it was about time a robbery occurred. Nothing happened. He stayed sitting while the men picked him dry.

The third and fourth nights, he disappeared. She lost two girls.

He returned on the fifth night, splattered with hardening blood, as if inviting the law to come after him. Of course, the law did nothing.

It was time for confrontation. No man dared approach the joint with his eerie presence so obvious.

"Can you talk?" she asked.

"…"

"I'm speaking to you. You kill my girls?"

That sparked a response. He looked up at her.

"They're not free, you know."

Maybe he really was mute.

She laughed harshly. "But there really was nothing here for them. Guess you lucked out."

"…"

"I don't know who you are or where you came from, but this is a business I'm trying to keep here. There's a plague on this town and these women need their jobs, do you understand? I'm not asking again- please leave."

He kept the same blank stare.

"My name is Julia Hoffman. Unless you've got something to pay, go away."

"…"

"You got a name?"

His mouth moved. Silence.

"Collins… They used to call me Collins."

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**Thanks for reading!**


	2. Monsters

**Julia makes another discovery about the pitiful newcomer. Believe it or not, I _do_ intend to make this a shipping fic.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Dark Shadows**

* * *

_II. Monsters_

_"They used to call me Collins."_

"Well, Collins," Julia started, convinced that there was indeed something very wrong with the man, "you have an hour to get out of my sight."

"I'll be gone by daylight," he replied after another disturbing pause.

Had she been younger, the exchange would have filled her with childish pleasure. Under different circumstances, _ordinary_ circumstances, their exchange would have been in the opposite direction. There might even have been a point of time where she wouldn't dare make eye contact with him.

Ironically, she felt no resentment for the death of her girls. They deserved more than she could ever have given them. It left an empty feeling inside her- their deaths changed nothing.

Any contempt she wanted to feel for the man before her evaporated as soon as she remembered what a pitiful shell he was.

Collins.

"You from that little sea village?"

He nodded.

"You spend all your money on the way?"

"I walked."

"That's a long way to walk." Julia frowned; it was an incredulous statement but Collins seemed disturbed enough to accomplish the task. Mental illness was something she was more than familiar with.

"Where 'are the whores!?" a third voice bellowed.

Julia turned away from Collins. A stocky man was limping towards her, cheeks flushed and pockets overturned, the layers of dirt and sweat on his body glistening in the dark.

"Hoffman," he slurred, "I got money now. Hoffman, ya promised- the whores- ya promised."

She didn't bat an eye. "Pay first."

"I got money," the drunk continued, staggering forward and planting his head on her shoulder, "why don't you believe me, Hoffman?"

Julia stepped backwards, muscles tightening. The bastard was too intoxicated to notice the obvious: there was no money.

"Get. Off. Me."

Clumsy hands fumbled over her dress. She didn't bother flinching. Her eyes went back to Collins; he was staring at them, at her, and some flare of recognition seemed to go off.

Crack.

The man's hands slid off her. His body lay at her feet, head twisted, glassy eyes still staring at the dirt with confusion.

Julia grimaced. It was an ugly sight and she knew no one else would be willing to touch the corpse.

Collins stood beside her, lips drawn in a tight line, one shaking hand still outstretched. She knew the type of man who would kill without hesitation and Collins was such a man. How he did it was another issue.

"Dupres," he murmured, looking at her once more. "Natalie Dupres?"

She shook her head. "Julia Hoffman." Shuddering, she placed a tentative hand on his dusty shoulder. "Collins, how did you-?"

"…"

"One hand. How?"

He didn't reply. She decided to take it a step further. If he wanted to kill her, he would have done so already. Besides, she looked like this Natalie. Deduction told her that was all the advantage she needed.

"I won't tell the law if you leave now, Collins."

He ignored her threat. The man bent down, examining the corpse with blank eyes, and without warning, opened his mouth and chomped down on the neck.

Julia's eyes widened. She watched with horror as the blood spurted out, staining his pale face. He was feeding.

That was the fate her girls met.

* * *

After an eternity of watching Collins leech the wretched man's blood, Julia shakily crossed her chest. She had never been a religious woman, but at the moment, confronted with what could only be the work of a creature straight from hell, all rational thought fled.

Collins lifted his head and gasped, blood dribbling from the corners of his mouth, fangs glinting.

Julia steadied her breathing. She needed to live- she had lived for so long, strived for so much- it was the one thing she refused to fail at: living.

She knew she had to destroy _it_ before he could destroy her.

He stood up, leaving his chin stained, and stayed still. Slowly, calmly, Julia approached him, stooping to pick up a shard of broken glass.

"Collins, that what you did to them?"

He stared past her, as if she wasn't there.

"I'd be a liar if I said that doesn't make me mad. They didn't deserve that."

She was a foot's length away from him. The shard was getting heavier.

"Why'd you come here, Collins?"

"…"

A hair's length. She was staring at his chest. Her gaze went up until they met his haunting eyes.

"It ends here. This town's got enough troubles."

She plunged the shard into his side, shoving until her muscles went sore and the audible tearing of flesh went off in her ears. His blood splashed over her hand and continued to drip as she sunk the edge further in.

It took him a moment to register what happened. Collins regarded her silently, without so much as a glance for the wound.

He put a chilling hand on her collarbone and lightly pushed her back. She went willingly, muttering curses and crossing herself once more. It wouldn't be long before he collapsed.

It didn't happen.

His right hand hovered over the bloodied glass before grasping what little of it still showed. She saw the edge dig into his fingers, drawing another stream of red. He pulled.

If there was a look of pain on his face, she didn't see it. The shard came out, followed by a small splurt of crimson from his damaged side. He tossed it aside effortlessly.

"You should have aimed for the heart," he stated.

Collins pointed at the area with those injured fingers. "Try again."

She blinked once. Then again. And again. Dumbstruck.

"Please… try again."

Enough of her reasoning had escaped in their brief encounter. Her fear, loathing, and confusion were replaced with curiosity- the kind she hadn't felt since the days of her youth.

She approached him again, without any hesitation.

He didn't make a move as she prodded his side. Her fingers pushed back the ripped fabric of his clothing, gliding along the slippery redness. There was so much blood…

But the hairs behind her neck stood up as her examination continued. What she felt was smooth skin.

There was no wound. It must have healed. It must have.

Again, Collins didn't protest when she took his hand in hers. She felt the slick blood, but there was no trace of the cuts. They were gone.

"How? I've never seen something like this."

"…"

"What are you?"

"A monster."

He said it callously, as if that word was the simplest of nouns.

Vampire.

They stayed in that position for an infinite amount of seconds, his hand in hers. The wheels in her mind turned. Collins wouldn't try to harm her- that much was certain- if she could somehow keep him in check…

She took him by the arm and gestured for him to follow.

"Come inside with me. It, it might rain tonight."

Disbelief was apparent on his face, an expression of complete shock.

"I know you're not deaf, Collins, or mute for that matter. Come in."

"I don't…"

"If I was Natalie Dupres, would you do what I asked?"

They stared each other down.

Then dumbly, timidly, he stepped forward. That was all the certainty she needed- she had won.

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**Thanks for reading! Reviews (including complaints and constructive criticism) are always welcome.**

**As for why Barnabas is practically a hobo, and why Julia is a prostitute, all of that will be explained... eventually.**


	3. The Madame and the Corpse

**Thanks for the reviews and reads!**

**Remember how John Karlen had no role in 1795? Now he does: Jack Hollingshead Loomis. And technically speaking, this Willie stand-in _is_ our PT Willie. It's just that there's already a Will Loomis in canon, and I wanted to see how well this "Willie" would fare in the realms of AU.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Dark Shadows**

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_III. The Madame and the Corpse_

_That was all the certainty she needed- she had won._

They said nothing to one another, the broken floorboards creaking beneath their treading feet. Julia motioned for Collins to pick up his pace. The house was splintering and dusty beyond his comprehension.

The smell of old gin and sweat saturated the air, a disgusting blend of a scent that refused to leave.

"This must be mighty new to you, eh?" She joked.

"…"

"Less you've been to one before. I wouldn't be surprised- you rich men are all the same."

He didn't answer. She grabbed his hand and led him through a corridor of stalls, ignoring the aggressive moans that floated out the cracking doors and makeshift curtains.

Her girls were doing fine work.

"This is the common room- customers who aren't picky come here."

He was unimpressed. Julia went in first, only to be met with a half-dressed man slumped on the floor. The young man looked up at her, shaggy yellow bangs matted with sweat and plastered to his forehead. He managed a slurred greeting.

"You really got money this time, Loomis?"

He chuckled. "'Course I do."

She prodded him with her foot. "Better watch yourself,_ Hollingshead_."

"Name's Jack."

Collins came in, waiting for further direction. Julia was about to pull him once more when the blond interrupted.

"Ain't that the mute? You think he's richer than me?"

"Get up and pay me, Loomis."

Jack propped himself up, shaking and hiccuping. "I'm gonna marry Jessica. Take her 'way from here. Don't you worry, Hoffman, I'm doing it."

Her eyes softened. "Don't make promises you can't keep."

"Mute," he said with a drunken grin, "I'm the undertaker in this town. Help everyone bury bodies." He let out a dry laugh. "For free. No one pays ol' Jack- you don't look so good right now, if you die, I'll help you."

"He's fine." Julia's patience was running thin.

"Then why's he bleedin' all 'ver the place?"

"He's fine."

"Don't look fine to me." Jack burped. "Mute, Chanson's men get you?"

Collins raised a brow.

"Probly did, eh? I'll give you a nice burial, mute- it'd be real quiet and nice. What's his name, Hoffman?"

Jack stood up, steadying himself on a nearby wall and smiling at the pair with half closed eyes.

Julia decided not to reply- she had enough of the boy already.

"Barnabas Collins."

That came from the vampire's mouth. She gave him a look of surprise, which quickly turned into a frown.

"So friendly now, Collins?" she asked.

"…"

Of course. She sighed and pointed at a cot, the one Jack had no doubt recently crawled out of.

"Sit down."

He obeyed. She scanned him- Jack was right: not looking "so good" was an understatement. She would have to clean him up before the girls saw him. It would be hard enough to explain without all the blood.

"That's a fancy name, Collins," Jack said, sliding down the wall. "Never met a barnabas before."

"Shouldn't you go home, now?" Julia snapped..

"Can't walk now," he laughed.

She didn't contest him. Julia bent before _Barnabas_ and put her hands on his rags. It must have been a fine cravat in the past.

She tore them away.

The coat came next, falling to a dusty heap on the floor. She didn't trust Collins to take off his own shirt- his yellowing, blood-stained shirt. She suspected that given the chance, he would return to his place on the stoop and sit still as stone.

"You'll be good as new in no time," she said.

He eyed her.

"As good as a dead man can get," she muttered.

* * *

Julia was no stranger to cleaning corpses. But it was unsettling to touch the skin of a man so clearly alive and yet so unearthly cold. The vampire's clothes lay in a heap on the floor; she planned to throw them away soon- she couldn't very well explain the blood without ruining her plans.

Jack's hiccups were the only sound besides her furious scrubbing.

"Barnabas," she sighed, "How long's it been since you last bathed?"

"…"

His eyes looked away, seemingly too ashamed to answer.

She brought the wet rag down on his skin again, wiping away the layers of dirt until his chest was red and raw. The darkened rag came away as she soaked it in the pail of water.

"Well, I have a proposition for you, Collins."

She lifted his arms and continued her handiwork, watching the soapy suds form on his skin. Soap was hard to come by and the little she saved was reserved for special occasions. Unfortunately, that occasion went by the name of Barnabas Collins.

"You can stay here with me and my lot."

She dabbed at his face.

For all she knew, he probably had a hundred servants to attend him in the past. Well, he would have to learn to live with change.

"For a price that is."

"I have no money," he declared quietly.

"I want something else."

Cupping his head in her hands, Julia delivered what she hoped was an honest stare. Her lips formed a smirk.

"Face it, Collins. You've got nothing now, not even a beating heart. This town is cursed- all I need is you to stay and let me study you."

Her fingers traced his neck. No pulse.

"Imagine that, the secret to immortality. Who knows? We might even get a cure out of it."

He stared disbelievingly. "You? How could you have the means?"

Anger flared through her briefly.

"I wasn't always like this. You of all people should know that."

He hesitated. "And if I do stay? What then?"

"Work for me. Be our, how should I put it,_ security_. Put some of that inhuman power to use, help my business in a sense."

_Maybe even save us from Chanson_

His gaunt face was clean by then. The expression was unreadable but she knew he was considering the offer. She knew men like him. Grasping at straws was human nature, even for those no longer so.

"What in hell's name!?"

Startled, she turned around. Jack was awake once more, face red with anger, furiously pointing an accusing finger at them both.

Had he overheard? That would certainly put a damper on her proposals.

"Is that Chanson? Collins, you a Chanson!?"

"Jack, calm down-"

The youth was stumbling towards them. He half collapsed at Barnabas' feet. Sweaty hands grabbed the vampire's shoulders.

"Oh my- you look j-just like 'im! Stephen Chanson- why I ought ta kill you here and now!"

Julia pushed him aside, shocked that the boy had noticed before her.

Barnabas was most definitely older than Lord Chanson by a good decade or so. His face alone was evidence enough. Now that he was clean, she could see the resemblance.

If he had been younger, if his eyes slightly brighter- he could very well be Chanson's twin.

"He's not our man, Loomis!" she hissed, "Get off your drunken ass and take a good look!"

Jack squinted. "I don't believe it- some poor man's got a Chanson's face." He laughed, swinging one arm around Julia. "Ain't it a great place to live in?"

"Madame," Barnabas chimed in, "I'll do it."

He looked as if he had just ignored the entire conversation about his look-alike. That didn't concern her. He was going to stay. He was hers.

"Say, Collins- you'd like to know about the man who bears your face?"

He regarded her warily.

"Alright."

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**Thanks for reading! And feel free to review (critique and complaints included).**

**Yes, I'm going with the DS tradition of having people look identical to one another. Young Jonathan Frid gets to play Stephen Chanson.**


	4. Men

Disclaimer: I do not own Dark Shadows

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_IV. Men_

_"Say, Collins- you'd like to know about the man who bears your face?"_

_"Alright."_

Julia tensed. Stephen Chanson was a sore subject and Collins didn't look terribly interested. But she was tired and bewildered and feeling the terrible urge to throttle someone.

"We say this town's cursed," she began.

"Always has been," Jack added with a snort, "'ver since I was born. That's Noir Valley for ye."

"The Chansons run it," Julia said, "them and some other men. No right. But they do- they own our taverns, our doctors, our everything. You know the most pathetic part, Collins? They didn't used to. Before the Chansons came, Noir Valley reeked of beggars anyways."

Her throat shook. "Rumor has it the governor insulted a devil some time back. No one ever leaves this town. And those that stay… you've seen our streets. Chansons made it worse; came along and said they'd help."

The worst plague was men.

"Stephen Chanson was a gentleman."

It was a distant memory- old Lord Chanson promising her a career ahead, taking her hand in his own, promising and promising and promising.

"Took our money, took our faith. Lots of them still look up to him, the mighty Lord Chanson."

Jack's drunken voice returned, "Old Chanson's dead now- his young brother's in place- ah, you look kind o' like them both- old chanson and Stephen. They're not helping things, making everything worse- won't even let anyone leave without a damn fee! Fee!"

In the end, it had all been promises- in the end, she had been a fool to even think of anything else. Chanson had been a cruel, cold man and Stephen was no better.

Noir Valley was eating itself from the inside out and the Chansons were urging it on.

Jack was slumping against her again. She checked for Collins' reaction. Either a thousand thoughts were going through his head or none at all.

"You better steer clear of Stephen Chanson," she quipped, "He wouldn't take kindly to your face."

"You say a devil caused this," Barnabas stated lowly.

"It's only a rumor."

She eyed him sideways. "But you've given me cause to believe it."

He looked away.

"Your family run Collinsport?" She asked, a hint of hollowness in her tone.

"For a while."

It was her turn to look away. A little too forcefully, she began leading Jack toward the door- he could pass out in the hallway for all she cared. But the fire wouldn't die down.

_For a while._

For a while, she had been proud to be a Hoffman. For a while, she had aspired to be a medic. For a while, she had been bright-eyed and ready. For a while, she had believed she could make a change. And even for a while, she would have loved Lord Chanson.

"Were the lot of you anything like Chanson?"

"I don't know anymore."

"What is that-"

Jack leapt away from her. "Jessica! Glad ta see me!?" he bellowed.

Her girls filed in messily, chattering noisily to one another, and casting glares about the room. Jack had latched onto a petite girl with raven hair, apparently unaware of her smeared makeup and generally ravaged countenance.

It was almost endearing how Loomis didn't give a damn about what she had been doing in the previous hour.

"Ma'am, isn't that the mute?" one of them asked, absently stroking her buttery hair.

Julia returned to the so-called mute's side, giving him a look that suggested he should stand up. Barnabas didn't seem to understand.

She tugged at his sleeve with irritation.

"Turns out he's not a mute."

The girls were circling the vampire by then, eyeing him like prey, an ironic observation on Julia's part.

"He's not a Chanson is he?" Jessica asked meekly, a sour note in her voice.

"Why'd you bring 'im here, ma'am?"

"He don't look very rich."

"You found a lover, ma'am?"

Julia brushed off their questions with a wave of her hand. She wasn't about to answer a single one, especially that last one, and she was sure Jack wouldn't be able to either.

"His name is Barnabas Collins. And he'll be working here for a bit, isn't that right Collins?"

The vampire stood up hesitantly, a nervous hand at his throat. She hoped he wasn't hungry; their deal had just begun.

"That's correct," he said at last.

* * *

It was a cold morning, sprinkled with light rain and grey clouds. Julia walked about the decaying house, calling for her girls. There would be no sleeping in on her watch. The raindrops managed to seep through the cracks in their roof and a growing pile of water was growing on her shoulder.

The night before had been the most eventful of her life, and yet her life really did not change.

Jack was gone and likely nursing a sore headache at his own shop. The undertaker wouldn't return until evening. As for her vampire, she had stored him in her own room.

There was a corpse lying in her bed, for lack of better word. If Collins wasn't such a sad looking bloke, she could almost have mistaken him for Chanson. How many nights did old Chanson spend in that bed?

She wanted to spit on the floor.

Her girls were still curious about Mr. Collins, that much was a given, but she had no reason to go into more detail. He was hired help. That was all there was to it.

She entered the bathroom, nostrils immune to the fowl smells it emitted. It was less of a room for bathing and more of an extra room for her customers._ Low-lives, the lot of 'em._ She glanced in the cracked mirror. Her eyes were slightly bloodshot and rimmed with dark bags.

She bit her lower lip. She would have to send for Lang, the damn bastard of a man. A shiver of excitement traveled down her spine- science called to her. It hadn't called to her for so long.

After tidying up half-heartedly, she left the area, imagining the tip of a scalpel against Collins' chest.

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**Again thanks for reading! Note: The only reason I seem to be a fast updater is because these first few snippets were pre-written. **


	5. The Madame and the Doctor

**The story so far: Julia is a prostitute. Barnabas is a vampire bum. Jack Loomis is Willie's undertaker ancestor. It's 1795. Dr. Lang and Julia do "things" to Barnabas. And Jack gets a turn in the spotlight. Stephen Chanson, Barnabas's look-alike, finally shows up.**

**Note: I think the story would be easier to read if the vernacular leaned more toward the late 1800s than late 1700s. In case the dialogue annoys anyone, I'm sorry.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Dark Shadows**

* * *

_V. The Madame and the Doctor- The Undertaker and the Lord_

"Would you care to remind me why I was called over to look at a corpse in your brothel?"

Eric Lang ran a tired hand through his snowy hair, brows knitting in frustration, sagging skin worsened by his deteriorating mood.

Julia would have liked to kick the man.

"Dr. Lang," she said, as pleasantly as she could manage, "this corpse, as you call it, is quite alive."

Lang knelt by Collins' body, examining the vampire with a scrutinizing eye.

"It does look fresh, if that's what you're referring to, Madame."

Julia sat on the bed, crossing her legs and bringing one hand to put on the prone figure's head. Her fingers tangled in Barnabas' hair.

"Listen to me, doctor. You've known me for so long. Do you remember when I was a wee lass? A child?"

The vampire's hair was surprisingly soft beneath her hand.

"You used to come visit my father. You admired him as a fellow practitioner of medicine, didn't you? Quite a lot."

"That admiration doesn't extend to you."

Her chest tightened in rage. Memories of the old doctor moaning on top of her briefly re-surfaced. There was no respect between the two of them- Lang had forfeited whatever honor he had in her eyes when he became a customer, and she had forfeited hers when she let him.

"You might consider restating that. Now, remember the stories you used to tell me? Vivid tales of men back from the dead? Of men made from other men? Of ghosts and-"

"Your father called me a madman," Lang cut in, "If you recall, we had several arguments about my beliefs."

Julia removed her hand from Barnabas' hair and proceeded to trace his face with her index finger. It stopped at his upper lip.

"Truth be told, I always thought of you as crazy doctor Lang."

She lifted the vampire's lip and gestured at the protruding fangs. Julia cast the doctor a light grin.

"Now, what do you make of this?"

Lang's eyes widened. The man looked on the verge of falling face-down. Julia knew that look- it was the same look on her own face the night before. It was the look of a man whose world had been jolted, a man who was about to have his wildest dreams come true. It was the look that Eric Lang had sought all his life.

Because in that instance, Madame Hoffman had proved to him that no, he was indeed not a madman.

"I'll be," the doctor whispered, throat visibly clenching.

"I found him last night. He'd been making meals out of my girls, you see. I have his trust, you see. But you have the tools, doctor."

Lang was silent as he held his breath. When he spoke again, the wondrous gleam in his eyes had not left.

"Give him to me, madame. I- I will take care of this."

"No. I found him. I have his consent. _We_ will handle this."

"This is not a woman's work. You should have learned that by now, Julia."

Lang stood up, towering over both Julia and the vampire in the process. He straightened his decaying cravat. "Let me have the body. I will conduct research on it- I already have a million plans-

But Julia had been expecting this response. No, Eric Lang would not steal her findings.

"You're right." She narrowed her eyes at him. "This is not a woman's work. Or a man's for that matter. This is a scientist's work. And we both know that I am more than qualified."

Lang's shoulder's heaved. "Madame-"

"I have my own plans. And Eric, you owe me. You owe my father."

She stated her thoughts coldly, looking him straight in the eye, daring the doctor to disagree once more. She had spoken the truth as plainly as she could and Lang was not the type of man to gloss over heavy words.

She added one more phrase to ensure her victory.

"_Its_ name is Barnabas Collins, in case you were interested. I resemble a woman he knew."

Lang stood silent yet again. He wrung his hands together and let them fall at his sides.

"Care to share your plans, Madame?"

* * *

"Are you done with that yet?" Lang asked flatly.

Julia ignored the aging man, weighing the aluminum tube with her hands. Her left thumb rubbed the round pump at its top. The object seemed to be in mint condition.

"You've never used this before, have you, doctor?"

"This was an expensive leech to procure, madame. You'll understand that I'm not too eager to waste it on the riff raff of Noir Valley."

She turned the tube on its head. The blades on the other end seemed to glint as she moved it; her thumb traced the tips, careful not to draw blood, but with enough pressure to check their acuteness. All was well.

"I'd like to begin now," she told him, all but tossing the artificial leech back at his eager hands.

Lang fumbled with the leech as she took one more look at Collins, stripped of everything before them, including the bed sheets. She had made sure he was lying on top of the scratchy covers, not beneath- she doubted she would have the time to clean the bed should they make as big a mess as Lang predicted.

"Hold him down," Lang ordered, bending before the body on the bed.

"He's not going to move."

The doctor grumbled an incoherent curse at her. Julia smirked, taking her place beside Lang as he brought the leech's blades closer to Collins' chest. A bit closer. A tad more.

The blades met flesh and punctured skin, a small circle of blood outlining the rim of the aluminum leech. Lang pulled on the pump with every resulting movement the vampire's chest made. The sound of blood entering the tube was more than audible.

The pair refused to speak as the bleeding was done, but Julia noted a growing sheen of sweat on Lang's forehead. It was almost as if the doctor took some perverse pleasure in this task.

Of course, it would be hypocritical to say she was not nearly as excited.

* * *

Julia emptied the leech's contents into a glass vial, making sure that not a drop of usable blood was left behind. Lang had shed his cravat by then and was standing over her vampire with a variety of scalpels.

She didn't see the point of this, for lack of better word, dissection. Barnabas Collins had the same basic anatomy as any other man. If anything, they should bleed him again. Approaching his heart was out of the question- their ventures would be futile if they rendered him a regular corpse. The key was in the veins, that much she was practically certain.

Setting the vial on her worn dresser, Julia approached the working doctor. She was glad the door was locked and shut- at least half of her girls would scream at the sight.

"I hope you don't intend to ruin my sheets completely," she remarked.

Lang grunted in reply, pinning a torn flap of skin with tweezers. Ripped tissue started from Collins' chest down to his torso, forming a giant hole where clean skin should have been. Past all the blood, Julia could see the entrails and what appeared to be a lung. She raised an eyebrow at the rib Lang had decided to remove.

It might as well have been an autopsy. Unfortunately, Collins would have a better time recovering than her sheets, sacrificed to the alter of science.

"Just like a dead man, it's remarkable," Lang rambled.

"It is."

"Watch this, Julia."

In his frenzy, the doctor had forgotten the formalities between them. Julia could care less.

"Watch-"

Lang kept his scalpel against an edge of ripped flesh, and of its own accord, the skin pushed against the blade, the tissue underneath recovering, and the veins pulling back together.

"It heals so quickly. It's remarkable. Remarkable."

The missing rib seemed to be growing back on its own, spreading in a perfect curve. Julia was so absorbed in its progress that she nearly jumped in surprise when Lang snapped the rib off again.

"Remarkable."

The body seemed to jolt as well. Briefly, Julia wondered- a disturbing thought had entered her head- whether or not Collins was in pain.

* * *

"How old's the boy?" Jack asked, jotting down the last of his measurements. The old woman stared at him blankly, the dust caught in her hundred wrinkles.

She looked a thousand years old. Jack was sure the woman was a good few decades younger than she looked. She coughed, putting a shaky hand on who he suspected was her grandson. Or son.

The boy was a pathetic little thing, far too scrawny even by Noir Valley standards, with ashen skin and a cough that put the woman's to shame.

"N- n-n-n-n-nine," the lady stuttered.

"Big lad, ain't you?" He asked, grinning at the child. The boy smiled back.

"Coffin'll be ready in two days- I'm no good at making pretty coffins. You came to the wrong man." Jack stared wearily at the pair, feeling his headache return. "We'll have an awful nice burial."

As nice as his cheap prices could offer, that was. Jack hated himself then- the boy was dying and all that woman wanted was a nice send-off for him. _And all you can think about is the damn price_. He was his father's son after all.

It would be an awfully nice burial, though. He would put more effort into it. The child seemed sweet. And that poor stuttering lady.

"Awfully nice," He repeated.

The door burst open, making him jump in fright. The hell? He turned to look at the new visitors. _Oh hell!_

Two burly men looked at him with eyes much-too-smug for comfort. He recognized one of them- the bastard had lost to him in a tavern fight a few weeks back. He hoped the man didn't remember. But it was the man in the middle that made his stomach turn a knot.

Stephen Chanson stood in a bright frock coat, not a speck of dirt on his boots, hands poised on a crafted cane, and head held high. The undertaker resisted the urge to scowl. Chanson couldn't even bother removing his tall hat? He wouldn't even allow Jack that respect?

"Loomis," Chanson addressed. It was not a greeting.

"Milord." Jack did a flamboyant bow, careful to make minimum eye contact.

The young lord flashed a cruel smile. At least, that was what it seemed to Jack.

"Ah, ah, I made this venture for a good reason, Loomis. I hope you don't flatter yourself too much."

Chanson chuckled as Jack's blood boiled.

"My poor cousin has taken ill. Very ill."

_Can't say I'm sorry ta hear that._

"I would much prefer an undertaker from out of town, but we'll have to settle with less at the moment. I simply do not have the time. We'll bring the body say, in two day's time? I doubt the wretch would live long."

Chanson chuckled at his own joke. Jack didn't laugh along.

"B-b-b-b-but-"

Oh hell. Jack turned to the old woman and her boy. She was staring wide-eyed at Chanson, as if confused by the overlapping dates, and unsure how to act around the gentleman. It must have been the first time she saw Lord Chanson in the flesh. He must have seemed glorious to her, a creature too fine for her realm.

Chanson's face blanched. She was staring at him. Directly in the face. As if they weren't making things bad enough, the ill boy had the audacity to-

He touched the frock coat.

"Get your hands off me!"

The cane came down just as Jack stepped between them, catching the thing in his hands.

"Loomis, what do you think you're doing?!"

Jack pulled the boy back as Chanson whipped the cane away. His face was contorted in anger.

"This is the kind of filth you serve, Loomis?"

"S- sorry, milord."

Chanson pulled out a handkerchief and wildly dabbed at the spot where the boy's fingers had met the coat. When he was finished, he all but threw the cloth at Jack's face, as if it contained germs worthy of the black plague. Jack wondered if Chanson would vomit then and there.

"Expect me in two days, Loomis."

Without another word, the nobleman turned around and left, his men at his heels, the familiar one obviously snickering at Jack. The boy was shaking in his arms. The woman seemed just as shocked, if not outright petrified.

"I might be late," Jack said at last, "But it'll be a damn good funeral."

He grinned at the pair. "Damn good." He needed a good drink, then maybe a roll with Jessica, then maybe he would punch Barnabas Collins in the face and blame it on Stephen Chanson.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! I confess: I love writing characters like Stephen Chanson.**


	6. Red Rain

**Haven't updated this in forever. For some reason, I was stupid enough to think this would end by now. HA. Update: Barnabas fixes a roof, or tries to. And another character is introduced.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Dark Shadows**

* * *

_VI. Red Rain_

"Ma'am," Jessica said timidly, twirling a lock of stringy dark hair with thin fingers.

"What? Out with it, girl."

The reply had been harsher than Julia had planned and she was momentarily sorry for making the girl flinch. The rickety house was being pounded with raindrops, as if some invisible being was taking its anger out on the Wyndcliffe brothel. The gloomy weather, coupled with the task of cleaning up Lang's mess and the moaning of her greasy customers put Julia in a rather foul mood.

"Roof's leaking."

"It's always leaking. Someone complaining, dear?"

"No- but it's- it's bad, ma'am. You should see." Her voice was faltering.

"Fine. Let's go."

The two made their way to the closest thing the house had to a drawing room, whereupon Jessica slunk away. Julia wrinkled her nose at the water viciously splashing against the floor. _Where's Loomis when you need him?_

The smell was particularly intolerable in the moist weather. Common sense told her she couldn't get anyone to patch the roof this time at night, in this weather to boot. But Julia was never one to dawdle.

Brushing away a spot of water on her head, she journeyed back to her bedroom. The room was heavy with the scent of blood and sweat, smells she had tolerated throughout her cleaning while Barnabas sat idly on the side. He was buttoning his shirt for the third time when she walked in.

"At this rate, Collins, people are going to think you're an idiot."

His skin was clean, not a single blemish or scar left from Lang's tampering.

"Did it- did it go as planned?" He asked, almost afraid of the answer.

"Your autopsy? That went excellently. If it's the result that concerns you, you'll just have to wait, like a good little patient."

He said no more. She couldn't tell if it was disappointment or acceptance. She leaned on the door, mildly intrigued by his fascination with the buttons. Everything she knew about his kind was from Lang's zany tales. _Distracted by counting-_

"Those aren't sunflower seeds."

For the first time, she could have sworn the edge of his mouth almost quirked upwards.

"You can count your buttons later, Collins. I have a job for you, a very mundane, very human job."

"Such as?"

"It involves a hammer and some planks. I trust you have no problem lifting them?"

"No problem at all."

* * *

There was definitely a problem. He could lift the tools easily but that was about it. Julia had no intention of supervising Collins beyond a period of five minutes, but it seemed detrimental to trust him with the job so fully. The vampire was standing on a ladder, neck arched so his eyes were facing the ceiling, teeth fastened on nails, and hammer in hand. The plank his free hand propped up was sloppily stuck to the ceiling and threatening to fall.

"You still have to do the roof," Julia reminded him.

The hammer pounded, the sound of a nail being tacked in just as one fell loose. Red water trickled onto the floor. Curiously, Julia stared at the source. Barnabas had somehow managed to pound his own fingers, scraped them with nails, wood, splinters, and whatever else she gave him access to. The blood was dripping downwards with a fervor strong enough to rival the rain.

The vampire had never done a day of hard labor in his life, and it showed.

"I wouldn't want you to hack your hand off, Collins, though it might just grow back."

He didn't answer, sticking another plank over the one he finally managed to nail up. He slaved at it in much the same fashion he did previously, a few fingers crunching in the process, not that the vampire seemed to care. Miraculously, the task was getting done- at least the "drawing room" no longer looked like it was about to flood.

Barnabas slapped a third plank on the area, bloodied fingers fine once more. One of the nails went through his thumb this time. Julia wondered how he planned to remove it. He pried it out with the hammer.

"When you're done with that, bring the ladder out back. Understand, Collins?"

He nodded.

Julia was about to leave him be, when a mop of yellow hair came trudging into her line of view. Jack Loomis flashed his signature grin, rubbing his wet hair back.

"Jessica's busy, Hollingshead."

"I can wait. I've had a bad day, Hoffman, horrible bad day."

"We all have bad days, boy." _Every day for instance._

"Chanson visit you?"

That pricked at her nerves. Once again, everything routed back to Chanson. "What happened?"

"Says his cousin's dying. Don't got the time of day t'get someone from out of town. I'm his best bet."

Julia was more familiar with the Chanson family than she would care to admit. She had a vague idea which cousin the lord had in mind. _Shadrach_ Chanson had spoken of them too many times. And she had listened. It was a long time ago.

"Is her name Esther?"

"He just asked for a coffin."

"Esther Eleanor Chanson. I heard she was a pretty girl."

Jack chuckled. "Be nice if she was. Easier on the eyes."

"Enough about Chanson. How does my roof look to you?"

The young man turned his attention, for the first time since entering, toward Collins' work. He stared for a moment, and resisted the urge to laugh.

"It could be worse."

Barnabas began the climb down, the tips of his shirtsleeves stained with drops of blood and hands temporarily battered beyond recognition. He picked up another set of planks and propped them on his shoulder.

"Help him, Jack. Collins is terrible at this."

"Not if he's going outside- raining cats and dogs out there."

"Don't forget the ladder," Julia directed at Barnabas.

As if on cue, the vampire lifted the object and swung it over his free shoulder, taking his leave without a single change of breath or pace. Jack whistled.

"I'm impressed- didn't think he had that much muscle."

"He's an odd one."

"You know, Hoffman, it'd save me an awful lot o' trouble if you lend him out to me. Wouldn't 'ave to get myself a boy in the morning."

"What makes you think I have the right to do that?"

Jack's chuckling had always irritated her. "Thought he'd do anything you want."

"What's this really about?"

"I've got another job. Old woman and a small lad. Coffin due in two days. Be faster if I actually had more help once in a while."

"Collins can't work in the morning. When night falls..."

Julia hoped she wouldn't regret her decision. Curse Loomis. "-I'll tell him to stop by."

* * *

Stephen Chanson counted the minutes on the clock. He had far more important things to tend to than the girl's ailments. Esther was having another one of her fevered ravings.

Soft chocolate locks formed a halo around her. Stephen touched one of them, as he had done as a boy. It disgusted him now. The sooner this invalid was out of his house, the better.

"The plague's onto us, brother. The plague's upon me- brother! Brother!"

Stephen said nothing, wiping his _sullied_ hand with a handkerchief. He held it behind him, one of the maids taking the putrid thing from his grasp. It was a shame really- Esther had been such a beautiful ornament. Long lashes and bright eyes.

"Father! Father, I see you!"

He stared at her sunken cheeks, her dark rimmed eyes, her bony wrists, her graying pale skin, and shuddered. Death was upon her, as it had been upon his elder brother. Shadrach had died in much the same manner, the only difference being the blood he puked.

"Uncle- I'm sorry! Please."

Esther spasmed, the maids rushing to her side. Stephen came to the edge of her bed, speaking calmly into the girl's ear.

"Two days' time, dear cousin. Things will look up, I assure you."

"Stephen, Stephen," She whimpered.

"I've sat by you, as you wished, my dear. Now I must retire."

"Stephen- Stephen- don't go- d-don't go."

"Don't worry your darling head, cousin. I won't be going anywhere."

She gulped up the lie, eyes shutting and relaxation tugging at her colorless lips. Stephen walked away, steps too silent to be heard. It wasn't until the door closed that his cousin began to cry.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! **

**Regarding Esther, she's not just an OC. Much like Jack Loomis, she also resembles somebody else... somebody relatively important.**


	7. The Start and the End

**As you can all see, my true colors are showing- I update with no schedule whatsoever and I'm slow at it too. That being said, things are finally kicking up in this chapter.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Dark Shadows**

* * *

_VII The Start and the End_

Julia stared at the bottles of blood on her worn dresser, intent and scrutinizing, a dull ache in her bandaged arm. One was filled with the vampire's blood and the other her own life fluid. She didn't see much difference in the blood, if any at all, though she did make one interesting discovery- Collins' blood had none of the warmth that came naturally in mammals.

Perhaps if she mixed the samples together, a new result would yield. Perhaps it would be the same as mixing goat and pig blood, which would render her endeavor useless. Or perhaps it wouldn't. Barnabas was a dead man and her blood was still fresh. There had to be something about his blood that differed from hers. If his dead fluids acted the same way outside his body as they did inside, then she may have a slight breakthrough.

"Ma'am- doctor's here!" a shrill voice called, just as her door was pushed open.

Snapped out of her ponders, Julia quickly turned around, shielding her notes and bottles from the blonde coming in. Eric Lang was behind her, carrying a leather pouch.

"I see that. Go back to work, dear."

The youth nodded and was quickly bouncing away from the room as Lang stepped in, his face an indication of insomnia.

"You're late, doctor. I was expecting you in the morning, not_ now_."

Lang scoffed. "I've been quite busy, almost as busy as your whores, Julia. Illness hit Noir Valley hard this month and I do have a livelihood to maintain."

"It doesn't matter now. I sent Collins out for the night. Did you bring-"

"Yes."

The old doctor set his pouch on a nearby chair and produced a wine-skin from it. "I shall have to draw new plans tonight. I had an irritating run-in with some drunken beggar in the noon, lost a few of my notes in the streets, though I doubt anyone else will pay them any mind."

He held the wine-skin up as Julia approached him and prepared to take it. "I trust that's not diseased blood in it?"

"Not at this stage, no. A control group would be a good idea for now, and we should feed your vampire normally."

"I suppose I should give you my utmost gratitude, doctor. The butcher's is too expensive these days."

"It was my pleasure, madame."

Julia supposed she should have wondered where Lang got all that blood, but she admitted, with little to no regret, that she didn't really care. As long as they had some way to feed Barnabas before her girls started dying out again.

* * *

"Hate that wretch a mighty bunch," Jack droned, "can't do this without measurements, but no- course he doesn't have the decency to show me that body. Bet it was a pretty girl wench too."

The undertaker spat on the dusty ground, looking at the dirt and weeds on the outskirts of Noir Valley. The cemetery was an ugly mess of crude stones and elaborate sculptures. It had once been a place of adventure in his boyhood, but he now knew how dull and misshapen an area it was.

"Well, my man- what d'you think? The town's finest resting place for the dead."

Barnabas stood by him, with that unnerving vacant gaze the younger man was already used to. Jack hadn't expected him to reply.

"I dislike it."

"Likewise- well, now you know where we'll be working. Just keep your head down at the funeral and Chanson won't notice your face. You know where the tools are in the shop- showed you everything now."

A chilly wind blew past them and Jack shivered, pulling his tattered coat closer to his form. "Mighty cold tonight- s'always bad weather here."

He shot his assistant another glance. The latter was staring at one of the rotting gravestones, his thin shirt blowing in the wind. "Best be heading back now- we got work to do," the young man said as he shrugged off his coat.

Jack walked past the other man, stopping briefly to drape the coat over Collins' shoulders. The undertaker walked on before turning his head in annoyance. "Move, Barnabas!"

Barnabas, in turn, only stared at him, eyes slightly wider and filled with a hesitant hint of emotion. He nodded and began following Loomis, the latter continuing his walk. "You ought to get a coat soon- s'awfully cold at night."

Jack kept his eyes on the town, occasionally turning to face Barnabas, and rambled about the flaws of Noir Valley, which in the undertaker's eyes, consisted of everything about it. Behind him, the vampire allowed a slow hand to touch the rough material of Jack's coat. He clutched at it.

* * *

If there was one thing Stephen Chanson hated more than poverty, it was filth. And filth covered the man causing the ruckus in his home. He had enough things on his mind. For one, he was trying to avoid the plague, and desperately hoping the rumor about it skipping around was true. If Esther caught it, then he would certainly be exempt.

But one could never be certain.

Following the lights of candelabras, the lord descended the staircase and all but pushed his way through the yelling servants. The loud man was pinned on the ground, howling about who knows what, his clothes faded and ripped, his countenance painted with dirt.

"Master Stephen!" he cried, staring up at Chanson with an irritatingly hopeful gaze.

"Get off my property. You're causing my cousin horrid distress!"

"B- but my lord- it's me- it's Johnson!"

Stephen ordered the footmen to lift the man up. And so it was- he had expelled Johnson from his residence a considerable time ago.

"And remind me why you were removed in the first place. The mere sight of you offends me."

"I didn't make the lady sick! I- I had a son- he's getting better, milord- really! I can come back- I'm healthy- really-"

"Take him away. Perhaps a beating would clear his head."

"Right away!" the left footman yelled, tightening his grip around Johnson's arm. The servants began dragging the man away, his chipped nails digging at the ground.

"Wait!" he screamed, one last desperate gamble in mind, "look here! Look!" A yellow piece of parchment flew from him, landing on the ground, muddy and on the verge of crumbling.

Stephen prepared to turn away before a scribbled dark word caught his eye. _Immortality_.

"Stop!" he ordered. The lord would rather not have made eye contact with his former servant but his curiosity had been peaked. "Where did you get this from?"

"The doctor, the doctor- Lang- Lang's his name."

* * *

**Thanks for reading!**

**And yes, Johnson is related to Mrs. Johnson. **


	8. Complications

**Sorry for the long wait! In my defense, some things actually happen in this chapter.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Dark Shadows**

* * *

_VIII Complications_

"It's a casket," Barnabas repeated as the undertaker ushered him into one of the tavern seats. Jack plopped down beside him with a heavy yawn. The last time he heard that comment was over three days ago.

"Bringin' that up again?"

The other man turned away, not that Jack was surprised at anything he did any longer. Barnabas had the habit of stating words out of the blue and then nipping a conversation in the bud, as if he had some chronic fear of talking. Jack knew the man wasn't an idiot- though he had suspected it at some point- but he hadn't ruled out some form of mental weakness yet.

"You're fast, I'll give ya that. Girl's coffin should be done tomorrow."

_And terrible at labor_. Just thinking about scolding Collins made his throat itch; it didn't matter how much he yelled- the only reply would be a nod or stare. The important thing was that they were making progress, and Jack knew he was damn lucky to have a man over a boy. Most of the townsmen refused to even enter his shop. _Damn superstitious lot_.

"A cup o' rum!"

Assured that his order had been heard, Jack flashed the bartender a grin and turned back to his man. "I _know_ it's a casket."

"But they don't know that," he added, "you have ta be rich to get a coffin."

The drink came his way and Jack snatched it, taking a moment to eye the new group of men entering the tavern. Burly, nicely dressed, and loud. There was the type of man who could wear anything and look rich, and there was the type of man who could wear the finest clothes in the world and still look damn shabby. These men were the latter.

"Chanson's party," Jack murmured, throwing an arm over Barnabas' shoulder, "Look down. Keep your head down."

He took a swig from the rum. _Ah_. He felt better already.

"I'll kill 'im."

The voice was low. Jack pretended not to hear as the group sat too close for comfort, arguing with themselves over trivial matters. He held the cup to the taller man's lips.

"It's not from the Caribbean, homemade stuff- but it's not too bad. Ya get used to it- try some."

"I'd rather not."

"He's right there, Forks, right there," someone was goading.

Jack took another gulp. He wasn't in the mood for a fight nor a flight for that matter. He passed the cup under Collins' nose once again, spilling a bit when the man refused to drink.

"_Loomis_."

He kept his eyes on the cup, aware that the tavern had suddenly fallen silent. Even Barnabas seemed to have stiffened beside him.

"I'm talking t'you."

Slowly, Jack set the cup down and turned, meeting the angry bloodshot eyes of Forks, the man he had bested not too long ago. He didn't remember much of that day other than the fact that the man was roaring drunk and he himself had too much pent-up anger to spare. Of course, Chanson only hired the best. And the best would not stand to be beaten by the undertaker.

"That was just one big misunderstanding'- I haven't got long."

Forks yanked the blond forward by the front of his shirt, the latter hoping no buttons were pulled off. He didn't have many clean shirts left.

"Oy! What-"

Jack never finished the sentence. A glob of saliva landed on his head. Blinded by fury, he picked up the leftover rum and splashed its contents over Forks' face. He was sent toppling backwards, feeling the blood gush from his nose as the bulkier man tackled him to the ground, throwing angry blow after blow at his face. Jack tried to flail, fuming at the laughter he heard from around them.

He saw blurs and stars next, the alcohol lessening the pain somewhat but the weight was suddenly off him. Jack's senses returned to him when he saw Forks' head slam against a table, its legs giving way seconds later. _The hell?_

Holding a hand to his nose, the young man forced himself up. The tavern was in uproar by then, its occupants making jeers and noises too loud for him to hear anything coherent. Forks sat up, grunting in pain, half his head covered in blood. Barnabas was standing before him, in a way that dared the man to stand up. Jack didn't know if he meant to be arrogant or if it was another one of Collins' badly timed habits.

_Collins, you're dead!_

Jack hurried towards his man, for fear that his prediction would come true within seconds. Chanson's men were not soft-handed. He was too late. Forks charged with a roar, goaded on by the drunken crowd. He slammed into Barnabas, a direct pounce that left Jack frozen. It should have by all means flung the man into the nearest row of chairs.

Forks stepped back, winded, his eyes betraying a hint of astonishment at his target's lack of mobility. The surprise gave way to anger once more and he threw a punch at Barnabas, one that connected with the jaw. Jack winced at the crunch it made.

But to his surprise, Forks was the one who gave the cry of pain when he went for the second punch.

Barnabas had caught the blow and was squeezing the hand in much the same way Jack had once crushed a rotten apple. The undertaker heard the snapping of bones, almost drowned out by Forks' screams. And yet Collins continued crushing the hand, until blood burst and the fingers quite literally took on another shape.

"Stop that!" Jack shouted, coming to Barnabas' side. _We don't want to be killed here!_

Forks crumpled to the floor, a shivering groaning heap. Jack didn't know why he expected the crowd to be quiet and leave at that point. He felt his left eye swell. If anything, Forks' companions seemed more incensed than ever.

"Say, ain't that the mute, Loomis?"

Jack said nothing as he pushed Barnabas toward the door. The man who asked stepped in front of them, his peppery hair deceiving Jack into thinking he was a man beyond his years. No, the bloke couldn't be older than himself.

But to be frank, he didn't care. He punched the bastard clean in the center of the face. He'd be damned if he would be the only one with a nosebleed. As the latter staggered and the crowd went wild among itself, Jack half dragged half shoved Barnabas out the door. The cool night air was a welcome respite to the "warmth" they had just endured.

"Was that Shadrach Chanson!?" someone on the inside shouted.

* * *

Julia wondered where Lang had gone off to. Surely, he hadn't forgotten about their appointment. She shook her head- business had been slow for her that night, a rare occurrence. At the same time, it did provide some of her girls a lucky break. She wasn't sure if certain employees could handle yet another "mercy killing" of unborn children.

She was slightly disappointed to open the doors after a savage knocking only to find Jack Loomis and his assistant instead of the doctor. She raised a brow at the state they were in. Jack had a cut lip and fresh blood was still leaking down his bruised nose. The left side of his face was swollen and an ugly color that hinted at an altercation.

"You expect me to treat this, Hollingshead?"

"I'm comin' in," he grumbled.

Jack showed himself in, Barnabas trailing after him. Ignoring the moans coming from behind the curtains and badly fortified doors, Loomis stomped into the common room, throwing himself into one of the cots.

"Should I ask what happened?"

"I met a friend o' mine. We could've died, Julia." He sat up, dabbing at his face with the sleeve of his shirt. "Think Collins broke his jaw."

Julia cast her vampire a glance, mildly amused at the lack of damage on his person, save some disheveled hair. "He'll be fine."

Jack laughed. "I don't think so- he broke a man's hand today. Did a terrible job o' it. Chanson's man too."

"And they saw nothing wrong with his... countenance?"

"Damn stupid bunch- you know, Barnabas, I'm startin' ta think you're not human. I see you bleedin' everywhere one minute, I see your hands break, I see your chin crunch, and next minute, you're fine."

"Must be because you're too damn drunk to notice," Julia said. The boy meant it all in jest but she wasn't about to let it become anything more.

"Could be," Jack muttered.

"Collins, have anything to say for yourself?" she asked.

"No."

"I thought as much. Come with me- Jack, I'll send Jessica for you in a moment."

"Mm."

Julia left, Barnabas beside her, almost like a shadow. The girls didn't ask her anymore questions about him anymore- if anything, his presence had been forgotten though she had gotten the impression they thought he was replacing Shadrach. She could have scoffed at the thought.

* * *

The vampire all but tore at the wineskin, gulping down its contents with all the elegance of a stone-age barbarian. The blood dribbled down his chin as he drank, eyes flashing with pleasure and excitement in turn. Julia waited for him to set the wineskin down. The moment never came.

"Isn't this better than feeding off my workers?"

His head bobbed. She was reminded of their first meeting and the way he had torn into the dead man's neck. It was funny that she needed a reminder. _Barnabas Collins, you could pass for a man_. But a monster would always show its nature, no matter what.

He gasped for air, setting the wineskin down at last. She grimaced at the blood staining his teeth. Julia tossed him a cloth. "Clean yourself up."

He began dabbing at his chin, as if he had just finished a steak, much to Julia's amusement. "You said his name was Stephen."

Now what was he going off about? "Chanson?"

"You said I looked like Stephen Chanson."

"I did."

"Who's Shadrach?"

Unknowingly, she began clutching the fabric of her dress. Just the name made her blood boil. "Stephen's brother. He's dead now. And he looks even more like you, Collins."

"You hate him more than Stephen." It was a statement. She didn't have the faintest idea why Barnabas was so interested all of a sudden. "Why?"

"Tch." She wasn't about to tell him. She wasn't about to tell anyone.

"Because he told me he wasn't like the other Chansons. Because he was everything my father had aspired to be. Because he was a right proper gentleman." Damn the vampire. Damn him and his prying questions. She had no reason to tell him any of this.

"Because he was one big lie- and look at me now, Collins. Look at all of us. Whatever I had left, I lost because of him. It doesn't matter now; I wouldn't have amounted to much anyway."

She said it all mathematically, walking around him and snatching the dirty cloth away. It could be re-used later.

"What about you, Collins? What led to your pathetic state? Shouldn't you be richer than Chanson?"

Julia expected no answer, but it did satisfy her to sting him with her own questions.

"My wife."

He was staring at his buttons, absently counting them. "I don't believe I was ever richer than Chanson." He never met her gaze. "The Collins family never was."

Julia watched him lose himself in counting, his words looping in her mind. He somehow looked like Shadrach Chanson back from the dead and at the same time, she noted that they looked nothing alike. Shadrach's eyes had never been quite so sad, his features never quite so burdened. And for the first time since their meeting, she wondered if Barnabas felt this way about her, the woman who looked like Dupres.

"Who is Natalie Dupres?" _The wife?_

"She would have been an in-law. She wasn't fond of me."

"Were you fond of her?" The conversation was getting too personal for her tastes, but Julia doubted Barnabas would ever speak this much again.

"How could I not be?" he said softly, more to himself than her.

Neither spoke any more.

* * *

Chanson tapped his cane against the older man's shoe. Stephen looked the doctor in the eye and shook his head at the door of his study.

"I've told you, my lord," Lang said, exasperated, "those were quack notes I kept for personal amusement. I'm writing a novel."

Stephen smiled. "Your papers could have convinced me otherwise."

"If you would still like me to check on your cousin, I shall do that now. Otherwise, I must go-"

"A whole day has passed with the two of us here. Do you honestly think I called you for my cousin? Surely you're not that daft, doctor."

Lang shut his mouth. The clock ticked in their ears. Stephen watched in annoyance as the doctor impulsively leaped from his chair and dashed towards the door. The moment it opened, he was in the arms of Chanson's servants, crying in outrage.

"I did so enjoy our chat. You say the plague isn't real and yet here you write you believe in immortality."

Stephen approached him, poking Lang's chin with the cane's tip. "I was called out of our meeting this afternoon, as you remember."

His eyes darkened. "Now, tell me- what's this I hear about my brother coming back from the grave?"

* * *

**Thanks for reading! And yes, Julia supports abortion.**


	9. The Madame and the Others

**I'm sorry for being so slow on the update, and I can't promise that it gets better. Regardless, thank you all so much for bearing with me!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Dark Shadows**

* * *

_IX. The Madame and the Others_

Julia was on the verge of passing out. She was far too tired to provide proper pleasure for the lug pressing himself against her. He fell back, covered in sweat and the smell of urine, stained hands picking at her rumpled hair. All she wanted to do was sleep. Slumber had been a necessary sacrifice she made when she undertook the project of Barnabas Collins, but she could only last so long. It was most irritating.

"The madame's still best at this," the man said, gasping in the dark.

Julia kept her eyes on the candle beside them. The flickers were dying out and soon there would be no light at all. She was far too tired to light it again. And far too cheap to waste a match.

She made a sound of acknowledgement, folding an arm over her exposed breast as the last customer sat up, pulling his trousers back up. "Your girls, got none of your skill."

"They'll learn."

"Aye. Be a shame if they didn't."

She wasn't sure what she mumbled. _Awake. Stay awake_. He left the bed and stretched, the stench of his body finding its way into her nose. She'd smelled better things in her lifetime. It wasn't too bad, she supposed. _Wouldn't make Jessica vomit_.

Her lids fell. She listened to him shift in the dark. The door creaked. He was gone. She could-

"Watch your way!" he bellowed.

Annoyed, the woman forced her eyes open, propping herself up on the pillows just in time to see two shadows in the corridor. The man's shape struggled against the wall, the other figure seeming to bury its head in his-

"_Collins_."

She jumped to her feet and bolted toward the struggle, the candlelight dying out just as she reached the vampire's back.

"The hell do you think you're doing!?" she hissed.

Barnabas turned towards her, eyes avoiding her gaze as he dropped the body. "He's not dead."

She grabbed his arm, though she knew he had the ability to toss her aside regardless of where she touched. It was of no matter. She shook her head. "Not dead? That means he'll wake up- do you want the whole town to know? Collins, this is a dangerous thing you're doing."

He failed to respond. She thrust his arm away and knelt by the unconscious man, tearing away a piece of his shirt and pressing it against the wound on his neck. He was alive. She didn't know whether to be flustered or grateful. The vampire was still refusing to look at her.

When the bleeding stemmed, she tossed the cloth away. Julia felt a chill run down her spine, a small gust of wind sneaking in through the chipped window. It was then that she was aware she was completely naked._ As bare as a new maiden_. She smirked at her own joke. She stood up, glancing disapprovingly at the body.

"I'll take care of this- let's hope he remembers nothing."

A part of her knew it was in poor taste to leave the man on the floor, and another part told her to play selfishly. Massaging her own neck, the woman turned away and returned to her bed, falling on the soiled sheets, and pulling the blanket over her. She could clothe herself in the morning and that man... she doubted he would wake up soon.

"You can go now, Collins."_ Go wreak havoc onto the night_.

Bumps in the dark, bugs in the floorboards, chips falling off wood. That was all she heard and for the moment, all she wanted to hear.

"Madame..."

The voice was by her ear. "I told you to go," she mumbled.

"Madame."

She felt his cold forehead press against her own. A fear built inside her at what would come next. Half asleep, she imagined the fangs sinking into her neck, her blood spilling over the pillows. Perhaps it would be a fitting end, if not messy...

"Madame- I... I'm sorry." The words came out crisp and quiet, with an air of almost guilt about them.

He seemed to lift his head, leaving her head feeling oddly bare. His presence grew smaller, she was sure of it, as if he had turned and left._ Turned and left_.

"He told me I wouldn't have to do this for long," she admitted to nothing, "he said he would turn this into a clinic."

Creak.

Her thoughts jumbled together. Shadrach was standing by her side, laughing at some odd comment. He held his arm out to her. He bought the Hoffman property, with nothing but pretty words in his mouth. She saw him turn away without a word.

He left.

"I'm sorry."

_Barnabas, you're still here_? She was aware of nothing more.

* * *

Stephen folded the handkerchief over his nose as he stepped out of the carriage, taking care not to step on all the grime in the way. There was much of it indeed. According to Dr. Woodard, the plague was spreading like hellfire and it would only be a matter of time before someone else in the household caught it. Stephen would make sure it wasn't him.

Taking Johnson back had been enough of a risk, not to mention that whelp of a cousin. But according to Eric Lang, there was indeed a way to bring the dead back to life. Research was all he needed to do. More and more research.

Regardless, all these findings led him back to the undertaker's shop. Shadrach Chanson was alive and well, if Forks was to be believed. Granted, the man did have a concussion and broken hand to support his argument. It did coincide with Lang's so-called research, and it was unlikely that the old doctor planned to give up on this venture any time soon.

_But my brother had never been a violent man._

His servant pushed the door open and the lord stepped in, removing the handkerchief at last. He frowned at the sleeping undertaker. Loomis was slumped in a chair at the back of the shop, his head drooping against a plain wooden coffin. The young man clumsily awakened, and upon seeing his guests, scrambled to his feet, unable to stifle a yawn.

"Milord," he greeted, rushing at the duo.

Stephen stuck out his cane, a gesture for distance.

"Is the coffin ready?"

"Aye- yes, yes-"

He shushed the undertaker with a wave of his hand. "I detest it, Loomis. It is crude and lacking in proportion and oh so filthy."

The blond tapped his chin in thought. "If you're willing to give me more time, we could-"

_We_.

"No, I shall simply have to deal."

Stephen scanned the shop for any other sign of life. All he could see were the undertaker's tools and various caskets. It was almost pitiful, but that was the least of his concerns. Forks said that man was with Loomis- that man who should have died and stayed dead.

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a short chain. The lord flipped open the miniature locket and flashed the small portrait at Loomis. "This, this is Esther Eleanor Chanson, my beloved cousin."

"She's might lovely." Jack's brows seemed to shoot up upon seeing the image, his eyes taking on a glint.

"So be sure the funeral is lovely."

"That I will, sir."

"You'll be handling it on your own? I doubt that's possible."

"I usually hire me a lad, lots of 'em running around."

"I hear you have a man this time." His eyes narrowed. Loomis stared at him uneasily before nodding.

"I did. His name is Collins, new to town."

"What does he look like?"

"Hard to say, milord. He's nothing fantastic- just a reg'lar worker off the street."

"Suits you, then."

Loomis smiled, his eyes giving off a trace of bitterness. Stephen surveyed the area once more; there was nothing more he could get from the undertaker.

"I'll be back soon. Good day, Loomis."

His twisted the handkerchief behind his back. Collins, was it? If what Loomis said was true, then Dr. Lang had more than a bit to explain.

* * *

"Doctor, I trust you have a good explanation for these late arrivals."

Julia crossed her arms as Lang dug at his bag, ignoring her chides once more. She had an inkling that he had some other project going on behind her back, though what could be more important than this was beyond her. Perhaps it had to do with money. Lang had never been a virtuous man.

Barnabas was set in his usual position, bare and stiff as a board on her bed. They had already taken the daily blood sample and prodded his every inch, as was the custom. Lang even noted that the vampire lacked a certain hardness down below, information that Julia found irrelevant.

What agitated her was the new tool the doctor felt necessary to bring.

"That's a Liston knife."

He seemed to glare at her. "I know."

"What are you doing with a knife like that? A scalpel's good enough if you want to stare at his entrails again."

"He has the amazing ability to regenerate- I just want to figure out the science behind it. It can't all be magic, can it?"

That being said, he reached for the knife and poised it over the vampire's arm. Julia knew exactly what he was going to do then, and for some irritating reason, as soon as the blade touched Collins' skin, she found herself throwing her hand on Lang's.

"_Stop_."

"Are you mad? I need to do-"

"No, doctor, no, you do not."

She repeated the phrase. "_You do not_."

Lang removed the knife slowly, one brow raised. "If it bothers you so, Julia. I doubt amputation would leave any permanent damage."

"It has nothing do with our venture."

He sighed, giving in to her demands, though rather unconvincingly in her opinion.

"Your father would never let fickle emotion get in the way," the doctor retorted.

Julia felt her nostrils flare. "Enough of that- we're done for today, doctor."

"Julia-"

"Done! Come, I'll show you out!"

"And leave you alone with it,_ him_, I suppose?!"

"Out!"

* * *

"The devil's upon you!"

"The hell!?" Jack retorted, shoving the raggedy man away. He turned back to his shop, noting with annoyance at the children walking past it while making the sign of the cross. Did they honestly think Shadrach Chanson had returned from the dead?

And apparently, the undertaker was to blame. He spat on the ground in frustration.

"If there's any devil, I'd say it's you," he called at the fellow who assaulted him, a bearded vagabond who looked far older than he actually was.

The man began another tirade, not that the young man had the patience to listen. He was more focused on why, of all people, Chanson was suddenly interested in all this commotion. Groundless, false commotion. It either meant Collins was hiding something from him or Chanson was. Likely both were.

He frowned. No, it was more likely that Julia and Chanson were causing a ruckus. He scratched his head. We'll have to see 'bout that, Julia.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! The plot is finally moving along and I promise some more action ahead.**

**Other note: I picked Jessica as the name for Loomis' love interest because I remember reading somewhere that Willie canonly married a Wyndcliffe nurse named Jessica post-series.**


	10. Answers

**Thank you all for reading and reviewing- that's what keeps the story alive! Sorry for the long wait. Real life kept getting in the way and I can't promise that my updates will get better, but I swear I won't leave everything hanging forever.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Dark Shadows**

* * *

_X. Answers_

Julia threw the covers over the vampire's body, debating whether or not to cover his face as well. She decided against it- he looked morbid enough on her bed, that chalky complexion putting her yellowing sheets to shame. The experiment was at a standstill- if his condition stayed level for a while longer, it would be safe for her to take their progress to the next step. For the time being, she would have to wait and observe.

"Ma'am!"

"Quit your shouting!" the madame cried back, taking a moment to smooth her hair before leaving the room. She made sure to not even leave a slit of the room in view.

"What is it, Alice?"

"M- Mr. Loomis," the girl sputtered when Julia came into view. Mousy hair providing a curtain for her eyes, she cowered before the undertaker, who, Julia noted, was looking surprisingly intimidating this "fine" morning.

"Don't scare children, Jack. She's only twelve, in case you've forgotten."

"Ah, sorry 'bout that, lass." The young man wore a frown, something that he didn't have often when visiting Wyndcliff. "I'm in a rush t'get some answers."

Julia dismissed her girl, unwilling to ask the blond what he wanted.

"There something you're keeping from me, Julia?" Jack asked, brushing his nose with a thumb, eyes intent on finding the truth.

The madame tensed, her features going rigid. She had misjudged the boy, that she would admit. He never struck her a stickler for knowledge- in fact, he never struck her as someone who would care about the endeavors outside his dead man's shop.

"I run a whorehouse, what do you think, Jack?"

The corner of Jack's mouth twitched, just as easily from annoyance as it was from amusement.

"Chanson snuck by today- wanted t'know 'bout Barnabas."

Julia's face remained blank. It did take a fine amount of willpower to stop herself from kicking a hole in the floor- of course Chanson would have to go and complicate a project he should have no knowledge about. It troubled her more than she let show.

"Don't see any reason why he should... less there's something you're hiding," Jack accused.

"Hm. Then tell me what you think. I'm sure it's not important."

Almost bitterly, the undertaker cleared his throat.

"The devil's upon you."

The woman felt her eyebrows rise. Now that was not a phrase she would ever have expected to hear from Jack Loomis.

"... _What_?"

Julia glared, a signal that she had lost the game of indifference, a sign that left Jack visibly pleased. _You're starting to aggravate me, Loomis. More than usual._

"Lot of people belong in bedlam around here, but I'm starting to think, something might be going on, something sane men shouldn't be dabblin' with. I'd just like to know," the man continued, "_Who_ is Barnabas Collins?"

To be frank, even Julia did not know the answer to that question. She opened her mouth to speak, searching for the correct words. _Ah, Jack, you came so close to cornering me_. Telling the supposed truth had never been so easy.

"A man who works for you without pay. A man who's lost everything, a feeling I know all too well."

Jack didn't seem pleased with the answer. He proceeded to voice that thought to her, receiving a half shrug in return.

"I let him stay out of pity, Jack," Julia sighed, "he's an odd man, might even be sick in the head- but for the most part, I find him harmless."

The blond's expression relaxed, despite the somewhat skeptical vibe bouncing from his posture.

"If Chanson wants to go about believing the superstitious, let him, but you, Jack, you've never been swayed by that drivel, have you?"

Jack delivered a confused sigh, throwing his hands in the air. "Aye, can't even tell if you're lying. But I've never been one for witches and ghosts."

"Well, now that it's settled, you should go back to w-"

"I think I'd rather relax for the hour- oy, is Jessica busy, if not, I could-"

Satisfied with this turn in the conversation, Julia shook her head. "To your left. She's free for the time."

* * *

Lang's rusting pocket watch ticked away as he paced, stuffing their notes in his bag. The doctor constantly grappled at thin air, muttering bits and pieces of incoherent terms to himself. Julia balanced the syringe in her hands, legs crossed as she leaned back on the chair. It was a risk. History did not favor injections, and even Lang seemed twitchy over the idea.

But Collins was a dead man anyway. It was still the closest thing they had to changing his condition.

"Where is that blasted bloodsucker?"

"Working. You might have caught him if you were earlier, doctor."

"I had matters to tend to, Julia- important matters."

"When he returns, I'll take another sample from him and give him the wine skin. _You_ can go about your night."

Julia stood up, tired of waiting, and set the syringe on her dresser, the glint of a hollow needle staring back at her. She yelped when Lang pulled her backwards, caught off guard. He twirled her around, humming a song off key.

"But, _dear_ madame, this is the last night before we make history!"

"Doctor, you're being silly."

"It's what our Hoffman would have done."

She sighed, allowing him to lead her around the room, shutting her eyes in a childish effort to pretend it was not Eric Lang holding her. It was Dr. Hoffman instead, shouting words of praise to his daughter. The fact that they were even celebrating such a zany scheme made her laugh.

"Congratulations, doctor," she found herself saying.

"Likewise, madame!"

The twirling came to a stop, Julia stepping back to let the doctor recover from his fit of excitement. Lang left after the waltz, flushed in the face, and grinning in an unsettling manner, his bag dangling loosely in one hand. Julia stayed behind, watching his back leave, running tired hands through her loosening hair.

She nearly jumped when she turned toward the door yet again. How had Lang missed it? Julia didn't know when Barnabas returned or how long he had been standing in that dark corner, a slate of moonlight over him the only thing alerting her of his presence.

She cursed herself for not noticing the shadow in the corner. The vampire watched, with a look that almost showed interest, whether for the syringe or the waltz, she couldn't tell. She lacked the desire to inform him of the injection. On the other event, Julia supposed there was no harm in telling him.

"My father used to dance with me, when he was feeling particularly charmed." She smiled at the memory.

Barnabas approached her, shabbily dressed as always, and paused inches away. A look of contemplation passed his face before he offered an open hand toward her.

"Madame," he said, "I do believe I owe you this dance."

_Who are you and what have you done with Collins_?

In the brief time she had known him, this was the boldest statement he had ever made. There was only one other man who had offered similar words _"Julia, I do believe you owe me this dance."_ Julia stared at his outstretched hand, wondering if the vampire had been replaced with Shadrach Chanson, if he had never existed in the first place. Every part of her wanted to refuse, but regardless of what she told herself, she _did_ want to know Barnabas Collins. Her fingers touched his.

When Shadrach was alive, the bastard had always filled the Chanson halls with music and light, sweeping her younger self off her foolish feet with everything he had.

There was no music, no rhythm, not even a proper light fixture to paint the occasion, and yet, Julia forgot. Yes, she decided, she had forgotten the importance of those things because in that moment, all that mattered was the slow, strange waltz Barnabas pulled her into. And even then, their eyes refused to meet.

"You know, Collins, you never told me," she said lowly, bits of candlelight illuminating her red locks, "why did you come here?"

As if the night's insanity refused to end, he told her.

"I awoke in a coffin and found I could not get out. Monsters are locked up for a reason."

It hadn't been an answer she was expecting, and it hadn't been a particularly relevant answer upon further reflection. Ironically, the words chilled her. For that one second, she was almost afraid of his callow tone because in that one second, she almost swore she-

No, she had no reason to _care_ for his person.

"Plaguing my father's home was a task I found too hard."

He said no more.

"So you thought to curse here instead?"

Abruptly, she took the lead, pulling herself against his chest, resting just below the chin, listening to a heartbeat that was not there, trying to feel a warmth that did not exist. No, Barnabas was not Shadrach Chanson- he never would be and numbly, she felt a flood of relief.

Because in that one moment, she allowed herself the luxury of caring in a manner she had vowed never to again.

"I don't know," he said, quiet tone almost blending with the dark, "but thank you, madame, for... all of it."

"My motives are selfish, believe me."

"As are mine."

His arms stayed around her stiffly, as if unsure how to proceed with the impromptu waltz.

* * *

Loomis never had that man with him in the day. Stephen contemplated the implications of this, and they ranged from the mundane to the ridiculous. He would waste no more time "observing" the undertaker's damned shop, especially with Esther's death date closing in. The less time he spent in the undertaker's company, the better. The last visit had been five days ago, too close in time for his taste.

He checked the pistol in his belt. That would have to do for sufficient defense should some urchin try to accost him in the dark. Forks was next to him, mangled hand still wrapped in heavy bandages and his head a stitched mess. One hand or two hands, the larger man was still a useful bodyguard, and for this particular occasion, it was best to bring him along.

They entered Loomis' shop, catching the undertaker by surprise.

Loomis was bent over a casket with sandpaper, sleeves rolled up at the arms. He immediately set the sandpaper aside and stood up, dusting bits of dust off his clothing, and rushed to greet the newcomers.

"Milord, what can I do for you?"

He was standing too close for comfort, as if trying to block Stephen's view. The nobleman could hear Forks growl beside him. He shook his head, walking past Loomis and stopping before the other man in the shop.

"I almost didn't see you," he said, tipping his hat.

"Sorry about that, milord, he's a bit out o' sorts right now-"

Stephen ignored the rest of the undertaker's words. His world seemed to have stopped. _Doctor Lang, you marvelous man_. The splitting image of a Chanson stood before him, equal in height, with the same dark eyes and drawn cheekbones, accompanied by a pallor fitting for a dead man.

"Well, well, well," the lord said, in a tone that conveyed the worst of intentions, "And here I thought Master Collins was just some worker off the street."

Loomis stayed silent.

"Well, it really is a pleasure," Stephen continued, offering a mocking bow before extending a hand, "dear brother."

The pale man tilted his head, glancing at Loomis for direction. Stephen didn't see what the undertaker's response was because Collins chose that moment to act. A slight flinch escaped the young lord when Collins took his hand in his own. The grip rang true from Forks' tale.

"Stephen," the man said, a knowing smile spreading across his foreboding features, "You have pieced the puzzle together at last."

It was the lord's turn to smile, an expression he found particularly painful at the moment. Pushing his willpower to its brink, Stephen managed to utter the next three words.

"Welcome home, Shadrach."

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Hope this chapter wasn't too much of a drag.**

**I won't be updating for a while due to real life issues/future wifi issues and I apologize in advance! I really appreciate every review, fav, and follow this fic got, and I promise not to abandon this story any time soon. **

**Spoiler tidbits for the future: Esther is a KLS look-alike because it's not DS without a KLS character, Dr. Woodard is in an affair with somebody, Julia's past comes to light next chapter, and there will be a pitchfork-wielding angry mob in the violent, bloody climax.**


	11. The Lord and the Lie

**Sorry for the slow updates! But chapter 11's finally up. Hope it was worth the wait.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Dark Shadows**

* * *

_XI. The Lord and the Lie_

His world had been turned inside out overnight- it was a strange sensation, to walk beside his brother once more, to see Shadrach in flesh and blood, as a moving,_ living_ creature. Some part of Stephen had not allowed itself to fully believe Eric Lang's findings; at the time, it was not a gamble- either the doctor had discovered immortality or he had not. There was nothing at risk.

Shadrach caught him staring and smiled, an eerie arrogant twinge of his lips. It was seeing him as he was that left Stephen stupefied until they entered the Chanson gates. Now _everything_ was at risk. His brother would take back everything, the family fortune, the estate, Noir Valley itself, and the title that Stephen had waited so long to earn. But those were troubles he would keep to himself- all he had to focus on was how to keep _himself_ animated forever more. It was with this mindset that allowed him to keep the tension away from his face.

The grandfather clock chimed, its booming voice bouncing off the corridors, the flames of the candelabra swinging in the shadows. The servants' faces passed in blurs, but Stephen could detect trembling from each and every one as they caught sight of Shadrach, keeping their heads low.

Johnson attempted to take the frock from the young lord, but the nobleman waved him off. He'd sooner burn the coat than risk contracting the plague.

"Draw up a bath for my brother," he commanded, fairly collected, "this is cause for celebration, no doubt."

"_Perhaps_."

The tone bothered him. "Come, Shadrach, there's a man you might be acquainted with." He led the other man up the winding stairs, chatting gayly all the while- he hardly knew what he was saying.

"Nearly ten years and you look exactly the same, brother- the two of you shall have to tell me how."

"Two?"

Grinning, the younger Chanson pushed open the study door, startling the man at the desk. Lang looked up from his notes, dropping the pen and paling upon seeing the visage of Barnabas Collins.

"Dr. Lang, your handiwork has found his way home," Stephen declared.

_Shadrach_ nodded in greeting, a small hint of surprise shining in his eyes. The doctor stood up, stumbling toward them. "Where-"

"The Undertaker's. Of course, I have no idea why you would submit to a low position, brother."

Shadrach shrugged. "I had few options, Stephen. A man rising from the dead would cause much commotion."

Stephen laughed, noting with apprehension the increasing unease Lang was displaying. "Tell me, then, doctor, how did you do this? This miracle? Is this immortality my brother has or simply prolonged life? I've been waiting for the answer."

Lang made a sound that resembled a scoff before he walked up to Shadrach, as if to make sure this was the right man. "The blood. To keep things curt, I developed a serum to stimulate the dead cells- it brought Lord Chanson-" Stephen felt his brow twitch- "into a temporary state of animation. A few more injections and here he stands today. Of course, I'm still looking into it, and by the end of my research, we should be able to have an elixir of sorts."

"And where is this serum?"

"I'm short at the moment. One can't rush scientific progress, milord."

The answer was too contrived for Stephen's taste, but he had no time for a rebuttal because his cousin chose that moment to begin her infernal wailing. Her cries for him proved too lengthy to ignore.

"I'll send some wine to you later, brother. Esther was the plague's next victim- as you can see, the whelp is as irritating now as she was when you were with us."

Stephen hurriedly left the study, the door swinging behind him, leaving the men to themselves. Lang took it upon himself to shut the door and lock it before he turned toward Shadrach once more.

"Well,_ Collins_, fine mess you've gotten yourself into, hmm?"

Barnabas tilted his head. "Does Madame know you're here?"

"It's a fine web of lies we've trapped ourselves in and Chanson shall have both our heads regardless of what Hoffman knows."

Barnabas fell silent, he and Lang taking the moment to gather their thoughts. They were already in the web- the only way out was to cut.

"Tell me, _who_ is Shadrach?" the vampire asked abruptly, gravely.

"Chanson's brother, you should know. Died nine years prior from the plague."

The doctor choked as a pale hand found its way around his windpipe, squeezing the air away. "What is the man like? Does Stephen care for him? And what was Hoffman to him? _Tell me_. I'm a damned man and I will not hesitate to hurry that path," Collins growled lowly.

Ironically, Lang mused as spots surrounded his vision, this may have been the first time he'd ever spoken to the vampire. He fell to his knees gasping for air when Barnabas released him. After a good amount of sputtering and coughing, Lang spoke.

"I don't know," he rasped, "keep acting like this and you'll pass just fine... he-he was a cold man... greedy, real- charming if he wanted to... Stephen... faked his tears at the funeral... or so I heard... Julia was his mistress... said they'd start a clinic together... Chanson took her father's money and left- told her to start a damn whorehouse... she didn't want to- had to in the end- she didn't have the means for a physician's work... used to have nurses with her- all working there now."

Rubbing his throat, Lang looked up, wondering what response the vampire would have, though he doubted any. Barnabas was gone and the door was still closed, a trace of dark mist in the air.

* * *

Jack stepped out of the carriage- or more accurately, a wagon, but he could always pretend- and bitterly stuffed money into the driver's hands. If Barnabas had a salary, this would be coming out of his pocket. The undertaker adjusted his hat and traced the buttons of his dark coat, feeling rather shabby in this part of Noir Valley. Anywhere within the vicinity of the Chanson property made him uneasy. It wasn't just the Chansons. There were more houses along the path he had to walk, somewhat larger newer structures in his eyes. _Prob'ly start molding in two years' time. _

Cursing Collins under his breath, the young man made his way toward the Chanson manor, staying to the shadows and repeating the plan in his head. He supposed he should take responsibility for what happened- when Chanson had burst into his shop, Barnabas had looked at Loomis first, for some sort of answer no doubt. Of course, the undertaker had no idea what he was planning but Chanson seemed headed to bedlam the way he spoke.

So he had nodded and now Julia would be livid if she knew where her harem boy was now. Jack chuckled, amazed at his ability to joke at a time like this. He doubted Barnabas was actually Shadrach Chanson- that was a lunatic's belief, and conscience would not allow him to leave Collins in Chanson's hands. The lord would not take kindly to being lied to.

Jack spat on the ground for spite's sake. He rubbed his hands together and panted before throwing himself on the gate and beginning the slow climb upwards, hoping he was shielded by the trees. Eventually he made it over and descended a bit too loudly for comfort.

He ran across the lawn, head low and rolled into the bushes. _Damn dark_. He removed his hat and wiped the sweat from his forehead, brushing a bit of pale hair back. Thankfully Stephen hated dogs- Jack was in no mood to be torn apart by canines. Gulping, the undertaker crouched and approached the manor itself, latching onto a nearby tree trunk. It led up to a lit window and he would have to take that gamble.

The worst possibility was falling and getting caught. The second worst was seeing Chanson in the nude. Or perhaps it was the other way around. He shed the hat and coat. Spit on his hands. The feeling of bark.

Shoes scuffing the trunk, he began the climb upwards, hoping the moonlight would at least stay relatively bright. He could barely see and the tree was too high for his liking. He heaved himself onto a large branch and from there, stared into the window.

He hadn't considered this possibility.

Esther was lying in her bed, pale and dimly illuminated by the small chandelier in her room. Another man was beside her, older, dark hair, rimmed spectacles. He held her hands and kissed them. She smiled back. _She really is a beauty_.

He tried to make out what they were saying. "David, take me away from here," her lips said.

"Dr. Woodard," the man said.

"_David_." They laughed. He bent and kissed her forehead. She coughed. Jack found himself compelled to watch. Esther was the kind of woman he only saw in paintings, not that he had ever seen one. _And here I am, making your coffin_.

"I don't want to die."

Woodard said nothing. She coughed. He dabbed at her lips with a handkerchief. "I must leave now, Esther."

"No!" "I need to-" "No! No! No!" She was growing hysterical and Jack could hear her through the glass.

"Stephen! Help me! I'm dying! Stephen! Stephen!" she screeched.

A few moments later, Chanson entered the room, shouting at Woodard and taking his place by Esther's bedside. The bastard had a cloth over his nose. Jack wasn't particularly surprised. He prepared to climb back down when Esther started sobbing. He froze when yet another man entered the room.

Barnabas was hovering over Chanson, staring at Esther with a strange mix of emotions, as if he'd never seen a woman before. He muttered a name that Jack couldn't catch.

"Uncle!" Esther shouted, terrified at the sight of him.

Chanson nudged him and Barnabas went to the window, staring out with eyes the size of saucers. Jack took that as his cue. He crawled out a few inches and waved. "Barnabas!" he hissed.

The man's brows shot up when their eyes met.

"Get outta there."

No reply. Jack had forgotten Barnabas wasn't right in the head. That made it more frustrating. "Come out here," he mouthed, holding his hands out in a questioning gesture.

A nod.

Jack turned away and began climbing down the tree.

* * *

So Lang _had_ betrayed her. Julia frowned, holding the letters in her hand. Letters addressed to Lang's office, courtesy of one Lord Chanson. Their content was of little importance but the mention of "research" told her enough. And Jack- that boy was pushing his boundaries with Collins. It hadn't been hard to find out that neither was in the undertaker's shop. The small pistol was in her shawl, a caution against robbers and possibly Chanson.

The children roaming the streets had been most pleasant to talk to. So Barnabas had gone away with Chanson. She wondered if he honestly thought he could regain what he lost by doing this pathetic masquerade or was he planning something far zanier. Knowing Collins, it was probably something mind bogglingly simple.

It was almost pathetic how well she knew the route to Chanson's home and how expensive the horse fare was. She had once come as an honored guest and now she was sneaking into the manor, a prostitute playing with death.

* * *

"It was not the blood."

Stephen said the words easily as he caught Lang at the corner of the staircase. The doctor cast him a questioning glance. "I should be going now, milord."

"I burned his body."

Stephen kept his hands folded behind his back. "After the funeral, I burned his body privately. You see, doctor, your lies were going so well until now."

"Lord Chanson, I don't know what you're insinuating but-"

He pulled out the gun, training it at Lang's chest. "Point blank range, Lang. You lied to me." _Barnabas Collins lied to me_.

Lang stepped back, breathing ragged. "Milord, what reason have I to lie?"

"Every reason." He pulled the trigger, the doctor falling back in a small explosion of blood, his body tumbling down the stairs, a rugged stream of red staining the carpet.

Esther's howls began anew.

Hearing the shocked cries of his servants, Stephen leaned over the balcony and called down to them. "Clean this up!"

* * *

**Cliffhanger~ Thanks for reading and again, reviews are always welcome!**

**Next time: Julia and Chanson see one another, Barnabas and Jack get themselves involved in a twisted kidnapping subplot**


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